My Path to Magic 2: A Combat Alchemist

by Irina Syromyatnikova

  "Just like that! He went on a routine inspection and vanished."

  "People don't disappear without a reason!"

  The guy suddenly became angry; my implied disbelief seemed to touch him personally:

  "It's none of your business, wise-ass, got it?"

  I understood: they wouldn't help me unless I came up with some idea right away.

  "Let my Max follow his trace!"

  He winced, "A good idea, but it's too late for that; besides, he was driving his jalopy."

  "But my dog is quite unique."

  Sparkling intuition was not among this guy's talents. It took him half an hour to agree: "Okay, there is no harm in trying. But I cannot provide you with any vehicle. Only one car left, and it is reserved for urgent needs. Who knows what else will happen? Perhaps we can rent a horse from the locals."

  He wasn't curious, either. He surely didn't think about how I got to his town: had I walked on foot from the station?

  "I need a canister of oil and one of your mages who can identify the missing officer."

  The chief frowned, "I am short of staff. Take Paulo with you. He is useless now. He is our empath."

  "A white mage? Are you kidding? I'm a necromancer. What if I need to cast a spell?"

  The chief of the "cleaners" choked at the news. "Do not say the 'N' word to the local people! They are wild barbarians, they believe in fairy tales. My deputy will go with you, but not today. Stay overnight in our guest room and come back in the afternoon tomorrow."

  Another angry boss on my back…Their guest room was a tiny place under the roof, with a chair, a bed, and window curtains, decorated with embroidered roses. I pondered on an odd pattern: the worst things seemed to occur in the quietest, most peaceful places. Perhaps that is a universal law: whoever lives sweetly ends his life awfully.

  I went to bed – and planned to get up before dawn. When I woke up in the morning, Arango's charm vanished: birds and green grass didn't move me, drowsy heat did not enfeeble me, and gorgeous landscape turned into false scenery, hiding the predatory nature of the area. A calendar giggled in my head, counting the days till my final university exam. I looked for a chance to start a fistfight. No matter who knocked off the missing "cleaner" (surely he was already dead), it would be curtains for the guilty; I was going to execute the killer personally.

  My dog caught his task on the fly. I did not know how Max sensed the traces, but from the town's outskirts he confidently led us along the road through the field. I quickly realized why the chief shook off his deputy onto me: he suffered from verbal diarrhea, a rare but severe problem for a dark mage. My motorcycle jumped on potholes like a jerboa, but the talkative blockhead behind me didn't fall silent for a second. I wished he would bite off his tongue. If I hadn't previously lived in a white family, NZAMIPS would have lost another officer that day, I swear on my mother's life!

  The "cleaner" behind my back boasted wildly, excitedly, not interested in my response and not worried about how his boasting looked from the sidelines. According to him, Arango's NZAMIPS was really tough. Then why did so many refugees flee? It was the locals' own fault, in his view.

  "I remember one story: phoma covered an entire house, but the owners didn't allow burning it off - it was private property. My boss had found a way to deal with them. You don't like the law? Get in the house, and if you come out alive - your way is the right way" he bragged.

  I pitied those villagers: the chief of the "cleaners" chose the toughest and most ruthless form to acquaint them with reality (if I were in his shoes, I would just show them an illustrated brochure; it would be enough to scare the peasants). Catching myself in compassionate thoughts, I almost groaned. Why did I feel sympathy for the stranger-idiots? Such handling of villagers should cause only a mischievous grin in a dark magician. I wasn't such a weakling before, was I?

  The talkative "cleaner" could not imagine how close he came to being cursed to death.

  Our trip ended in a flop. We failed to find the missing Officer Gatay, but discovered his truck (it huddled on the sidelines of a wide dirt road). There were some strange emanations around his track and no trace of his body. Max looked frankly puzzled. We called other "cleaners" for help. They found nothing and became angrier. Gatay's mates did not believe in the desertion of their co-worker (otherwise he wouldn't leave behind his track) - they blamed the otherworldly. But I knew the dark mage might have met another enemy - quite material and originated in this world – artisans. The fact that the grass at the track was too fresh pointed to white magic manipulations to erase traces. I kept my observations to myself - the "cleaners" became too agitated. The result of our trip was the returned truck and a lot of work for the staff empath.

  The same evening we gathered in the chief's office. Curator Paulo, a well-dressed middle-aged empath, hopelessly tried to get the attention of the "cleaners". They were outraged and humiliated, and the smell of duels filled the air. Of course, they chose me, the outsider, as a scapegoat. I didn't hope for their gratitude anymore, and I welcomed a good fight. It was time to check if there was any benefit from Satal's lessons.

  A "cleaner" of a gangster type with tattooed knuckles and two missing front teeth ripened for the fight first - he made an awkward joke on my account. He didn't need to show wit: his first words had no meaning, they were just a tribute to the ritual of invitation to a fight. Now it was my turn to respond: by boasting, demoting his status, and threats…

  And I did: "Your job is to haul manure. That's why you were sent here, you, an incompetent idiot. You are unfit for anything else. Too green! I could teach you a thing or two, but I am too lazy to flog you. But if you wish, you are welcome, toothless, I'll teach you for free!"

  The gap-toothed guy flushed and then turned pale with crimson spots. I became very good at teasing dark magicians! By the way, it was a particular chic in a duel.

  Chairs were already moved to the sides to free more space in the room. The empath selflessly tried to get between us, but he was pulled to the back rows, not to spoil the fun. Actually, he was the reason why I decided not to use curses: I wasn't sure how my magic would affect the white - the artisan in Ho-Carg lost his mind. But my rich life experience taught me to weigh alternatives…Diligently watching the hands of the gap-toothed "cleaner" (certain gestures could help me guess which curses he would use), I pulled out of my pocket a paper bag and threw it at my opponent. He fought off my projectile with his shield. The thin casing of my bag had burst, and the dark was thickly sprinkled with a bright green powder. The moron sneezed, again and again. 'Breathe, breathe it in, my pretty boy; that's exactly what I want you to do!'

  "What is happening?" the chief started worrying, but the "cleaners" lacked the reflexes of army mages, and I didn't expect a group attack from them.

  "This powder is an inhibitor of magic," I grinned mischievously.

  The mages in the room unanimously backed away from the victim. My opponent attempted to conjure something…No way. I started massaging my wrists for the fight.

  "Are you going to take responsibility for your words, man?"

  Nothing would knock the dark off balance as a quick, sudden loss of the Source; I knew this from my own experience.

  "I didn't mean anything," the castrated magician effaced at once.

  "Is this forever?" someone from the crowd asked with a painful interest.

  "No, just for a week."

  "Hey!" the chief started. "What are you doing? I am short of staff!"

  Why didn't he worry about it before our fight? Well, they didn't show good will to cooperate; maybe intimidation would help me?

  "I also have to do some work: important, urgent, and confidential work. You must help me. Give me a cicerone to Gilead, and I'll leave," I said.

  The looks of myself and the chief clashed on the unlucky "cleaner".

  "Sorcar, you seemed to have been on the coast before?" the chief asked in a gentle, affectionate voice. A magician, defeated in a duel, was a pariah for the "cleaners"
, and taking into account the specific injury he acquired, Sorcar would be teased for a long time. The fact that we didn't throw spells onto each other made no difference. The poor fellow quickly realized the advantages of being away for some time and nodded gloomily.

  "Aren't you afraid of being killed like Officer Gatay?" the chief asked me.

  I brushed him off, "Not at all!" My gesture made the "cleaners" move further away from me.

  "Do you have an idea what happened to him?" the boss narrowed his eyes.

  "I can make a reasonable guess. In Ho-Carg artisans were preparing a coup. Do you think they couldn't come to you? I noticed that someone had cast a white spell near his truck. Your officer bumped into the white mages on the road!"

  A puzzled expression appeared on the faces of the "cleaners". My poor explanation was better than nothing, they just did not like that it was offered by a stranger.

  "Come on! Artisans are puppies against you. Just watch for strangers, especially the white ones, and look for your food," I pointed in the direction of my spilled powder, "because they also know this stuff."

  "Sorcar, you will be at the disposal of Mr. Tangor as long as he needs you," the chief concluded as if nothing happened. "Gather your stuff, you'll leave tomorrow morning. And don't come back sooner than a week."

  The "cleaners" fled quickly, but without losing their dignity. In a moment, Mr. Paulo and I were the only ones in the room. The empath looked disheveled and pathetic, like a sparrow chewed by a cat. He had a hard time tonight!

  "I am sorry, I had no control over the situation," he tried to smile.

  "Don't worry! The dark will survive under any circumstances, in any situation. Locals need your help more than them, I think." The townsfolk ran away at any appearance of the "cleaners", and this told me a lot about their relationships with Arango's NZAMIPS.

  "For the first time a dark mage teaches me my work," his words sounded like a compliment.

  "Not just a dark mage; I am a specialist in retrospective animation," I corrected him.

  Chapter 15

  The attempted coup in the capital demanded tough measures. A meeting of top officials was devoted to the discussion of them.

  The Full Circle of the Ministry of Public Defense consisted of fifty-eight members, seven of whom were dark magicians, eighteen of whom were white, and the other thirty-three were ordinary people who wished to protect their interests from both the dark and the white. The minister also gathered the smaller Inner Circle. The meetings were held in the capital's Assembly Hall, located on the second floor of the Derenkorf Castle (a silhouette of its towers and a broken line of its fortress walls became a logo of the ministry); it was the only place in Ingernika completely secured from any magic due to a special absorbing construction material.

  All windows in the lobby of the Assembly Hall were fake; the stone walls were gently covered by tapestries in blue and silver tones. No one knew for sure what kind of protective signs were hidden behind them. The Ministry of Public Defense was, perhaps, the only government institution which viewed human villains as a greater threat than any otherworldly phenomena. The participants of the meeting slowly seeped past numerous guards, greeted their acquaintances, and split into small groups for an informal chat. The design of the lobby, with its columns and alcoves, allowed a good deal of privacy if required.

  "Mr. Larkes, long time no see. Out of sight, out of mind?"

  "Were your problems in my region so serious that you needed my intervention, Mr. Satal?"

  "I'd rather have no help at all than yours. But you seem to have forgotten that you've changed your place of service."

  "Why did you come to this conclusion?"

  "Because you still give orders to my staff!"

  The magician wearing the neat badge "Rem Larkes" started boiling: "I shared my experience and knowledge with your student; I do not want you to ruin his talent. As a 'cleaner', you can't be a good role model for a necromancer."

  Having heard raised voices, the meeting participants responded differently: the majority hastened to the opposite end of the lobby, but three came up closer. Dark mages like quarrels and battles, and they love watching others fight even more.

  The appearance of the minister saved the disputants from getting into a fight. Minister Michelson was an ordinary man with the personality of a dark magician. He could not stand noisy squabbles and relentlessly got rid of unmanageable employees. The wranglers instantly turned into amicably talking colleagues. The audience sighed in unison - some with relief, some with disappointment - and headed to the door, following the minister.

  All five regional coordinators of Ingernika's NZAMIPS, the heads of various services (there were seven of them), and the minister himself, with his first deputy and two guests, gathered in a modest room. Larkes was there too, though no one was aware of his position. The minister gave his subordinates and guests exactly one minute to take their seats: "Gentlemen!" the audience assumed a businesslike appearance. "I don't need to explain to any of you that the political situation in Ingernika is critical. The crisis was predicted many years ago, but that doesn't make it more manageable. Several times our ministry demanded preventive measures against theological revisionism, but some people in the government didn't learn any lessons from the Nintark experience. Fortunately, the rotation of personnel due to the recent elections and the situation in Arango brought to power more determined people, who share our concerns."

  Some from the audience nodded knowingly: the Minister of Justice, the latest protégé of Arango's landowners, committed suicide six months ago - he was one of ideologues of the "new order", which permitted regional authorities to cut the "cleaning" service. The consequences of this "order" in Arango demoralized and impoverished the eastern faction, and they failed to bring a new lobbyist to power. The minister did not allow himself to say a bad word about his already deceased perpetual opponent.

  "We have received a carte blanche. The people of Ingernika want us to eliminate the threat as soon as possible. Some time ago, a group of experts undertook an extensive study of theological threats and developed a number of recommendations, which will be best explained by the mage who will be directly involved in their implementation: my First Aide. Please, Mr. Larkes!"

  Larkes came up to the demonstration board with posters. The former coordinator's face lacked the "puppet expression" so familiar to many people, and this fact attracted everybody's attention to him by itself. The newly presented First Aide to the Minister bit his lip a little theatrically, as if recalling something, and then addressed the audience: "Gentlemen! To say this problem is old is to say nothing. The oldest records in our archives refer to a sect in White Halak, which set the goal of bringing human society into conformity with a divine plan. Our careful historical analysis has shown that artisans have always implemented this teaching through the persecution of bearers of dark Sources and the massive use of forbidden lethal magic, and this always - I repeat, gentlemen, always - resulted in a catastrophic decline of living standards, destruction of state governance, and civilian casualties. I want all of us to be aware: we are left with no other choice but to overpower the artisans; otherwise, Ingernika would become the same as Ingerland under King Girane." Larkes threw a prideful look at Satal, who was seemingly impressed by such a long and heartfelt speech by his foe.

  No, there were no naive townsfolk among the leadership of the Ministry of Public Defense. They knew that artisans were no harmless eccentrics, but many did not realize the plenitude of resources the cultists had in their possession and the fact that artisans widely used white magic. The majority of the government - ordinary people - tended to underestimate the problems white magic could cause.

  "Their main goal is to perform a ritual, through which they will expel some world evil - obviously, they mean dark magicians and the otherworldly. In reality, the ritual does lead to a temporary reduction in the incidence of supernatural phenomena, but this drop is followed by a sharp upsurge of the otherworldly to a m
uch higher baseline. The inevitable collapse of their efforts, time after time, has been explained by cultists as 'machinations of evil forces'. Following are preparations for the next ritual. All other goals and actions of artisans are secondary and of tactical importance. For example, the capital's artisans supported political conspirators in Ho-Carg because the latter promised them assistance in murdering certain combat mages who impeded the sect's work."

  Larkes paused, letting listeners catch a sense of what he had said. He certainly shocked many in the audience; dark mages pondered if they were on the artisans' list of people to kill.

  "We have learned that cultists recently developed a powerful amulet against dark magic, which their messenger was supposed to hand over to the militants before the coup. We don't know anything about the amulet except that it exists. But I am sure this weapon will be used against us soon."

  Then the First Aide to the Minister switched to practical measures, and his speech turned into a violent skirmish. No one liked what he suggested: to wait until they start their lethal ritual and catch them red-handed all at once.

  "Half-measures are meaningless!" he argued. "We have been fighting them for centuries, to no avail. The ritual will be attended by all leaders of the sect; this deed is the meaning of their lives. That's when we'll catch them all! Toder Tangor was confident that he would overpower artisans by fighting them one by one, but where is he now? He only bought us some time."

  Larkes' idea, which he named the King's City project, met a storm of disturbance. Eleven ordinary men and five mages recklessly quarreled for a while, until the minister concluded the discussion with a stentorian shout: "Gentlemen! No one is stopping you from dealing with the threat in your own way. All current regulations and circulars remain in force. The project will be carried by an independent group under the leadership of Mr. Larkes. Your task is to report any information about artisans' preparations for the ritual."

  "How about Arango?" someone from the floor audience shouted.

  "We'll conduct a military operation in Arango and clear this land of the otherworldly. If artisans show up there, Ingernika's army under the command of General Zertak will neutralize the enemy on the entrusted territory."